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The great hall feels different with Einar in it again.

Not just because he’s alive—though that miracle still steals my breath every time I catch sight of him by the hearth.

It’s the way he moves through the space like he belongs, like the weeks of his absence were nothing more than a nightmare.

The way my sisters gravitate toward him without hesitation, as if some part of them recognizes him as kin.

“Runa,” he says, crouching down to her level as she shows him a carved wooden wolf. “This is beautiful work. Did you make it yourself?”

She beams, nodding so hard her braids bounce. “Brynja helped with the ears, but I did the rest. It’s supposed to be fierce, like the ones in the stories.”

“It is fierce,” Einar agrees, turning the carving over in his hands with the careful attention I always imagined my father would give me. “Your mother would be proud.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Not painful, but warming.

Because I can see it in his eyes, in the way he looks at each of them.

Torvi’s stubborn determination. Brynja’s quiet strength.

Runa’s wild curiosity. Helga’s gentle wisdom.

He sees our mother in them. The woman who raised us and loved us.

Who never mentioned our fae heritage to us.

I shove that thought aside. Now isn’t the time for begrudging our dead mother—especially now that I have my father back.

A thought strikes me like a blade through my skin. What if we could bring her back?

My heart practically leaps into my throat at the thought. But no, that’s not possible. Especially not after all this time. It would be physically impossible.

“Tell us about the sanctuary.” Runa’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, as she curls beside Einar on the bench. “Was it made of starlight?”

Einar’s laugh is rich and warm. “Not starlight, little one. Though it felt like it. The walls were carved from a stone that held light, almost like capturing dawn in your hands.”

Helga settles on his other side, Brynja cross-legged on the floor at his feet. Even Torvi abandons her carving to lean against his knee. They cluster around him like flowers turning toward the sun, and something in my chest loosens.

Family. This is what it truly looks like. What it feels like with a father who cares.

But even as I watch them, my fingers trace the edge of the shield propped against my chair. The metal is warm to the touch, and the etchings seem to shift in the firelight.

Harek notices, of course. He always does. “What are you thinking?”

I glance toward my family by the fire, then back to the shield. “I keep trying to make sense of the etchings. What’s the message here? Instructions? Maybe a warning?”

“About what?”

I run my thumb along a series of interwoven circles. “Vivvi didn’t save my father out of kindness. She’s old enough to remember stories we never heard. She has power in Mirendel that goes deeper than rank or title. You were warier of her than I was when we stayed in her place.”

He nods, knowing. “And what about Lys?”

“I don’t know. I can’t read him. But his mother…” I pause, thinking of those calculating eyes. “She’s playing a longer game than any of us understand. That much is clear.”

Harek’s hand covers mine on the shield. “So we decipher the message together. Then we prepare.”

We. The word settles something in me. Not just Harek and me, but all of us. My sisters clustered around my father, taking in his natural fatherly kindness. The bonds that tie us together—not just blood, but choice. Love. The kind of strength that doesn’t break easily.

I study the shield again, focus on its message. The answer feels like it’s just outside my grasp. Like I should be able to lean a little closer and close in on it.

Across the room, Einar is showing Runa how to whistle like a wood-thrush, his hands gentle as he shapes her fingers. The sound fills the hall—clear and sweet and achingly familiar. Our mother used to make that same call when she wanted to gather us all home.

“He loves them,” Harek observes.

“They’re hers,” I say simply. “Different pieces of her, scattered and remade. He sees that, and he’s desperate for more time with her. We give her that.”

I watch as Runa climbs onto Einar’s lap, her small hands tracing the unfamiliar broadness of his shoulders. “They know he’s safe. That he’s ours.”

Ours. The word echoes in my mind as I turn back to the shield. Whatever Vivvi’s game, whatever price she’s extracted, she’s given us something precious. Not just my father’s life, but time. A chance to prepare, to understand, to grow stronger together.

The etchings blur as I stare at them, then suddenly sharpen. There—a pattern I hadn’t noticed before. Lines that connect the symbols, forming a web across the shield’s surface. Not random, but purposeful.

“Harek,” I breathe. “I think… I think it’s a map.”

He leans closer, following my gaze. “Of what?”

“Connections, relationships. Threads that bind us all together.” I trace the pattern with my finger, feeling the metal warm beneath my touch. “Blood and choice. Love and loyalty. Things that make us stronger than the sum of our parts.”

A log shifts in the fire, sending sparks up the chimney. My youngest sisters’ laughter mingles with my father’s voice, and for a moment, the future doesn’t seem so frightening.

We have each other. We have time. And somewhere in these ancient etchings lies the key to understanding what comes next.

Whatever Vivvi’s price, whatever Lys’s true purpose, we’ll face it together.

Family. The strongest magic of all.